Guardian Duties
by coffeelatte
Summary: Ryoma's a hailed Archangel desperate to escape the droning lolls of heaven. Fuji's a psychic celebrity whose name just appeared on Heaven's list of those in need of a guardian angel. Ryoma's bored and willing, and Fuji's...well, he's Fuji.
1. 01 and so, it began

**A/N:**** REWRITTEN, AGAIN. SIGHHHH. But this time, I SWEAR I'll update regularly! Hopefully once every week or so, but depending on my schedule, maybe once every two or so weeks? I hope you'll give this read a chance, and review to tell me what you think! (Pssst. Review make me update faster! Hehe.) And I know this chapter's short, but it'll pick up fast and get longer, promise!  
**

**Disclaimer: I do not own PoT. Just the plot of the fanfiction. And the fanfiction itself. Ohoho.**

* * *

"Where is Echizen Ryoma?"

The boy seemed to visibly wither before the mere _presence_ of the following eight figures, eyes widening and lips parting open in a sheer loss for words. In front of him, Tezuka's brows furrowed further, lines set deeply in his forehead, eyes coming closed as a hand rose to pinch the bridge of his nose. Dear god, he could feel another migraine coming on – ahh, yes, there it was.

Tucking a clipboard under an arm, he uncapped his bottle of medication with a single flick of his wrist, and duly swallowed a small capsule of headache-relieving medicine. He tucked the bottle safely back within his clothes, adjusted his glasses, then turned to face the small boy again.

"I will not ask again – where is Echizen Ryoma?"

Behind him, he could hear the telltale snickering of one Kirihara Akaya, and the quiet chidings of Yukimura. Tezuka sent a sharp glance their way, and Akaya immediately quelled, much to his vicious inner satisfaction. He resumed his deathly stare down the figure of the much smaller boy in front of him – Ryoma's so-appointed 'handler,' assigned to him by the Council itself due to his, ah, tendencies to _wander_ and _do things without permission._

As was visible _now_, when he was missing from a _very important_ meeting of Archangels – for god's sakes, there were only nine of them to begin with, how hard was it supposed to get to gather them all up? It was hard enough, getting each of them to obey the call, even without Ryoma's penchant for disappearing whenever he was needed. They were _archangels_, the strongest of Heaven's Warriors – Tezuka mused that perhaps it was this very reason that they found it so appealing to ignore orders and simply assume whatever it is that they'd been doing.

It was only when Tezuka, the _leader_ of the Archangels, sent out personal calls, that they bothered to assemble at all, the unruly lot of them.

"H-He, um- well, sir, I was quite certain that he was behind me the entire time, b-but by the time we got here, he was, um-"

"Lost?" was supplied by another voice, haughty down to the last trill, amusement laced in the single word.

Keigo.

Tezuka closed his eyes again, momentarily, hoping that the incessant pounding in his head would ease up – nope. No, no mercy at all.

"Ahhhn. Kunimitsu, do try to find the bratling soon; Ore-sama hasn't much time to dawdle around," Atobe murmured with an air of regal importance, staring down at his nails in disinterest. Of course, it went unsaid, though passed through everyone's minds, that really, the only thing Atobe ever did was hang around Tezuka, all sultry smiles and suggestive eyes.

In fact, Tezuka hardly remembered a time when Atobe _wasn't_ there, demanding that Tezuka pay him attention and kicking up a fuss when he didn't.

"Doesn't it look like I'm trying-"

"Nyaaaa, did Ochibi go missing again?" the shrill cry of Eiji floated above everyone's heads, and when Tezuka sent a glance his way, he could see that the acrobat was dangling at a strange, unheard-of angle from his chair.

"Maybe some demon he was taunting finally caught up to him and _ate him_," Kirihara suggested, a devilish grin on his lips.

"Nya?! Ochibi was _eaten_?! Kunimitsu, did you hear that? Ochibi was eaten by a demon!"

"It wouldn't be unheard of; that boy always had an unhealthy penchant for playing with things far too dangerous to be under control," the cool voice of Yuushi joined the others'.

"There's a seventy-three point four percent chance that Ryoma has been eaten by a demon at this point," and Tezuka wanted to strangle Inui.

"No no, my dear professor; it's a seventy-three point _seven_, including that singular incident, several months ago-"

Inui adjusted his glasses. Renji's lips curved into a small smile. "Ah, you're right, professor. It _is_ seventy-three point seven."

How the hell those two came to conclusions with _decimal points_ in their percentages, Tezuka would never know; that, and their insistence upon calling one another _professor_-

"NYA! Tezuka, did you hear that?! Inui and Renji both say-"

"Kyahaha, that brat had it coming!"

"Akaya, it's unkind to speak of the deceased that way."

"Death is such an ugly color on Ore-sama."

"Keigo, death cannot be a color – now, black can be, representative of death, as well."

"Yuushi, _anything_ can be a color on Ore-sama."

Tezuka uncapped the aspirin bottle to swallow another pill.

* * *

And just outside the Central building, a figure made his way to the gates' entrance, bare feet dancing over the ground in light, elegant steps, pale skin gleaming in the morning sun. Golden bracelets jingled from every limb, almost as though creating a beat for which his feet stepped to; and finally, he arrived, pausing momentarily when the two guards stationed at the gates stopped him.

He quirked a brow upwards.

"Identification, please. Only official Central members are allowed access," the guard dutifully repeated his assigned lines.

Ryoma laughed, then. "Does it look like I carry _identification_?" he asked, almost a _daring_ tone insinuated into his words.

The guards frowned. "Hey, kid – go back to playing in the field, alright? This is official Central Headquarters; brats like you shouldn't even come near here-"

"Hey, mister, I can see snot coming out of your nose."

"Why you little-"

"Echizen Ryoma-sama!" a cry from behind the gates had all three of them swiveling their heads, to stare at the girl stumbling forward, pigtailed braids flying behind her. "Where were you? You are late, Echizen-sama! Everyone is waiting!"

Several moments passed in stark silence. And then, in a burst of energy, the guards were apologizing profusely, eyes wide and cheeks reddened. "We're so sorry, Echizen-sama; we did not- we didn't know – we were unaware of your-"

But Ryoma raised a hand and waved his hand airily, another laugh dropping from his lips. "Save it, misters. Just wipe your nose. Mada mada dane."

And with a last, snarky grin, he traipsed inside, brushing past the two hulking guards.

They stared after him, mouths dropped open and eyes bulging wide. "So that's the famous Echizen Ryoma, huh?" one of them finally muttered, shaking his head.

Echizen Ryoma, the hailed prodigious son of an equally legendary family – the Echizens had long since carved their names, permanently, into the history of the heavens. From council members to legendary soldiers to simply _outstanding_ members of society, they were a prestigious family, even amongst Heaven's elite. Echizen Ryoma was their youngest son this century, and it was often said that he would soon inherit a council position from his father; of course, there were as many rumors as clouds up in the heavens, but still.

With a track record like his – impressive battle feats, even at such a young age, and an Archangel status previously unheard of at the age of ninety two – it didn't seem exactly implausible, either.

And then: "Who'd have known he'd be such a brat?"

* * *

"We need a volunteer," Tezuka announced, once more tucking a clipboard under his arm to address the room with his eyes. Eight pairs of eyes blinked back, and he relished in the momentary silence, only to inwardly grimace as the room was filled with laughter.

Some outright guffawing (Akaya and Eiji), some quiet chuckles (Seiichi, Yuushi, Inui and Renji), some delirious laughter (Keigo), and a derisive snort (Ryoma).

Tezuka cleared his throat.

The laughter quelled slowly, as each came upon the realization that Tezuka was, indeed, _serious._

"A _guardian angel_? Kunimitsu – don't tell me you brought all of us here for _that_." Atobe brandished his words with a swirling gesture of the hand, a chalice of red wine held loosely in his other. When the hell had he even conjured up alcohol, anyway?

"Leave it to the weak shits to take care of that," Kirihara snorted, leaning so far back in his seat that Tezuka marveled at whatever force was keeping him in said chair.

"Don't call them that-"

"It's true, though, no?" Yukimura smiled sweetly.

Indeed, Guardian Angels were considered perhaps the lowest ranks as far as ability measured – and even then, for an _Archangel_ to take on the duties of a _Guardian Angel _was perhaps the most laughable thing of all. In human standards, it would be akin to a nation's President taking on the role of a common police officer, really. Given the Archangels' despicably large pride, and their inclination to treat everything short of a Holy War as a _joke_, Tezuka had never really thought there would be much of a chance of someone actually volunteering themselves.

But the order had come from the Central Council themselves, so Tezuka had simply dutifully reiterated it back to the ranks as instructed.

With a sigh, he began to draft a letter in his mind, trying to come up for an explanation, or lack thereof, on exactly why it was an improper duty to assign an Archangel-

A pale hand rose lazily in the air. Feline golden eyes blinked, strangely round and impossibly wide with curiosity, an unnerving smirk painted across teasing lips.

Tezuka sighed again. "Yes, Ryoma?"

"Who's it for?"

Silence.

Eight pairs of eyes snapped open to train themselves on the small boy, incredulity spinning in the air. And then, finally, the stark silence was broken by a chortling laugh, courtesy of one delirious Kirihara Akaya. Soon after, giggles and chuckles and snorts followed, even Inui allowing himself an amused smirk of disbelief.

Echizen Ryoma, darling boy of the Archangels, the _archetypical_ arrogant bastard – stooping so low to bother with _guardian duties_?

As if.

Tezuka, however, was not so foolish as to let his guard down. Without missing a beat, he adjusted his glasses on his nose, and replied with a smooth: "Fuji Shusuke. Eighteen years old. Quite a famous celebrity in Japan – for his, ah, supposed psychic abilities."

The curve on Ryoma's lips widened.

"Hehhh."

A moment passed.

The pale hand rose once more. "I volunteeeer," he drawled, a smirk on his lips.

And that was that, despite the way Kirihara's eyes were trying to crawl out of his sockets, despite the way Atobe's wine now dribbled onto the floor from his slackened hand, despite the way Yukimura's smile widened knowingly, despite the way Inui and Renji turned to one another in shock and disappointment, despite the way Yuushi's brow rose in that irritating way, despite the way drool slid down Eiji's mouth.

That was that.


	2. 02 the lovers

**A/N:** Heylo, I know it's been a while since I updated the story, but I'm baaack! Yay! From now on, all tarot card information I use is going to be based on /resource/cards/ that site's description, so I'm crediting them here! Read and review, because I feed off of reviews and update faster! HAHA!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own PoT.

* * *

_**The Lovers** is predominantly a card of the emotions, and it often portrays love that is divinely blessed, either by Cupid, an angel, or by God Himself. This seems to imply that nothing but good can come of this union, though with such a dualistic card there is always the potential for a sad conclusion, despite the best of beginnings. After all, love is like a flame because it can ignite the blaze of passion, but also because it can consume and destroy if used carelessly. Love is a wonderful thing, but profane or unrequited love has the power to tear families and lives apart. The Lovers has within it the potential for such love and we must always be cautious of it._

A pair of hands – pale, lovely, artfully crafted, anyone could describe – expertly shuffled through the deck of slender, rectangular cards with practiced ease. Each card had identical ornate purple detailing along the design on the back, indistinguishable from one another. _Fwop, fwop, fwop_- the cards slapped neatly against the clothed table with an all-too familiar sound as the pair of hands organized them into a certain layout.

"There – and simply allow the hands of destiny to guide yours," the man murmured, voice soft and eerily soothing. The girl sitting on the other side of the table looked upwards with wide, wide eyes, lips parted in awe at the _beautiful_ man sitting before her.

Pale, honey-brown locks brushed against slender – but wide – shoulders, a sweeping white blouse fluttering from a thin but obviously defined frame. A golden circlet sat upon his temple, and eyes were hidden out of view in a disarming friendly smile. "Go ahead, miss." He spoke again, and the girl nearly jumped at the sound.

Her trembling hand reached outwards to tap hesitantly upon the centermost card.

Fuji reached out in a flash, unflinching, and flipped over the card in a single fluid motion. _The lovers._ Lucky girl, Fuji clucked in his mind.

"The world has spoken, beautiful miss," Fuji murmured softly, presenting the card to the girl, who accepted with shaking hands. "The lovers – a love that is divinely blessed, nurtured by the heavens themselves. You're destined for happiness, madame."

The girl promptly burst into tears of sheer happiness, clutching the card so tightly that it began to crinkle at the edges, and then-

-bright lights flooded the room, and at a "THAT'S A WRAP!" shouted from the distinct sound of a megaphone, activity burst into life. A pair of makeup artists ran towards Fuji right away, and before he could even say a word, a wide brush had already begun to re-powder across his cheekbones. He could faintly hear the director screaming obscenities and orders at several workers in the background, but he could hear the rattling of his manager beside him even more prominently.

"Alright, Shusuke – good work today, your viewer rating's gone up by 14 percent ever since we decided to start doing tarot card readings, too. The station's thrilled – next week's when we have to decide whether to stick with JTV or to move on to one of the other broadcast companies that are _dying_ for you, but not to worry darling, I'll pick out the best deals for you. I was a sports agent before this, and those damn hippies won't know what hit them – when I'm through, they'll be adding seven figures to your salary, they will. One of your sessions got cancelled today (the poor girl was sobbing hysterically, begging for a rescheduling, but it's not like you have an opening until _next March_), so you actually have a two hour empty slot until the interview with Jaystar Magazine at four, and then you-"

Fuji slid up from his seat, then, ignoring the clatters as the makeup artists dropped their tools in surprise. He slid an arm around the well-aged – but _very_ sharp in both wit and appearance – woman, smoothing a hand over the lapels of her fitted black jacket. "Misao, Misao – thank you, you're a dear. But I'm feeling a bit _dizzy_, so I'll just go lay in my room, hm?"

'Misao' narrowed her eyes at him, bright red lips flattening in an exasperated line. "You don't have to play those stupid excuses on me, Shusuke – we're three years past that nonsense, alright? You have a two hour break anyway, but we'll start preparations for the next location in one. Don't waste your time!" Misao shouted after him, for Fuji had already begun to prance away, a devilish smile playing on his lips as he fluttered his lashes playfully at her.

Misao couldn't help but to laugh. It was this charm and overwhelming charisma that had placed Fuji in such popular demand, after all – silly boy.

* * *

Fuji slid into his room, locking the door behind him; he headed towards the well-lit dresser, and downed the waiting glass of water in a single go, sighing softly as he placed the glass back down. He peered up, then, at the mirror, and almost laughed at the silly getup he wore. How people ever believed in all this flashy getups was beyond him.

He moved to the decadent sofa set he'd requested for his room and fell unceremoniously across it, sighing as the plush cushions deflated under his weight. Ah – that was a good-quality piece of upholstery, there. Fuji's eyes roamed idly across the room (bigger than most stars' dressing rooms in the whole building), catching promotional posters and feature articles of himself lining every wall. He almost grimaced – at least his manager didn't hold all of his trophies and awards, here.

Fuji threw an arm over his eyes and began to breathe.

His family had always been a well-respected family of _shamans_ – masters of the spiritual world, of the metaphysical planar, well-connected with the nuances of the other worldly. His sister, Yumiko, was a world-renowned 'ghost hunter;' she mainly went around luring bad-tempered spirits back to their own world, but Yumiko, being Yumiko, preferred to call it 'exorcising' and 'ghost hunting.' His mother and father oversaw the Senso-ji temple, the oldest, and one of the most revered, temples throughout Japan.

And Fuji? He'd simply been content to play tennis throughout his middle school years, and a good deal throughout his high school ones, too – he'd been a _nationally ranked_ tennis player. A _tensai¸_ they called him; a genius.

He'd committed the grave error of divining the future of a young woman, whom was able to find her marriage partner with Fuji's help – and that was perhaps the greatest mistake he could have ever made, because apparently, that young woman was the younger sister of _Misao_, who had then been on the prowl for new talents to take on. Misao, full of ideas about making a breakthrough into a new zone of entertainment, had mercilessly followed him around, until-

He'd only agreed to _one_ little television segment. But before he knew what was going on, more television appearances had been scheduled, a business formed wherein clients could call for private appointments with him, and shortly after, a broadcast station had signed him on with his very own show. He went along with it all – the silly showy displays of crystal balls, of golden accessories and mystically-furnished rooms even when he knew that such hanky panky didn't do _squat_ for spiritual connections.

Fuji had taken it all in stride, at first, because he'd been bored then, and it had alleviated that deathly boredom for a while. But he was getting bored again. He wanted out – but somehow he couldn't muster up the energy to call it quits.

Fuji sighed.

* * *

Ryoma stared down through lidded golden eyes at the seemingly sleeping boy; chin propped in hand, seated in the alcove near the ceiling, his feet swung slowly, idly. Hehhhh – so _this_ was the psychic superstar, hm? Ryoma, personally, didn't believe in those claiming to be psychics – reading the divine will of the world? He was an _archangel_, and thus far, he hadn't heard _anything_ about such things being possible. It was absurd.

There was no way for mere humans to be able to divine what god had intended for them – in fact, he, himself, didn't know. So how would this _mortal_ know such things? It wasn't possible. And if it was, it'd be a sore blow to his pride, thank you very much.

With another glance around the room – filled to the brim with posters and articles and photographs of the boy himself – Ryoma fluttered gently down, white wings unraveling to aid him in his descent downwards. He landed, bare feet padding against the carpeted floor, just beside Fuji's prone form on the sofa.

Was he sleeping?

But, Ryoma had to admit – Fuji was quite the pretty creature, especially on mortal standards; it was hard to believe, almost, that he was completely human… But that was a silly thought, and he let it perish. Instead, Ryoma leaned forward, closer, closer, edging in to get a closer look at this human he was meant to protect; he reached out with a hand-

-and let out a strangled cry when Fuji's hand shot up to wrap around his wrist. _What the bloody hell?_

"Saa saa – this room is off limits, you know," Fuji's lips curved into a sly smile as he murmured the words softly.

Ryoma, dumbfounded, was frozen on the spot, eyes wide and lips parted in shock. No way. No way no way no way _no fucking way_ that this human – had not only been able to see him, but was _touching him_- Was this even supposed to be possible? It wasn't, Ryoma was sure; brat or not, he'd undergone he was quite sure that humans _weren't supposed to be able to see them_-

He cleared his throat uneasily.

Finally, Fuji's other arm lifted from his eyes, and he turned to look at Ryoma, who felt his heart pounding in his chest as the taller boy shifted his head-

-the two locked eyes, and _something_ crackled in the air between them.

Both of them felt it, Ryoma was sure – for Fuji's hand suddenly released Ryoma's wrist, and the always-closed eyes opened, revealing electric blue eyes that jolted Ryoma in surprise. What kind of mortal possessed those kinds of eyes…?

"…Maa…" Fuji spoke softly, then, eyes closing back out of view, and he pushed himself upwards to sit on the sofa. He raised an amused brow at the boy standing before him – who couldn't have been older than sixteen, really – and felt another wave of surprise pass when he took in the boy's appearance. Well, for one, the smaller boy was absolutely, enthrallingly _beautiful_. But for another- he was garbed in a sweeping, pure white _toga_, clasped with golden ornaments, and accessorized in various golden trinkets. Barefooted, too.

But most shocking of all were the-

-the _wings_, sprouting from his back, and, oh, my, how _real_ those looked-

"Are you lost, little boy?" Fuji asked, with a smile.

Ryoma's brow twitched, and his eyes narrowed in annoyance. "…_Excuse me_?"

"If you're here for the 'Pretty Angel' segment on the J Show, your dressing room should be down the hall," Fuji continued, choosing to smile blithely at the expression of irritation scrawled across Ryoma's features.

Ryoma's brow twitched again. "…You think I'm here for-" Another twitch. And then, a smirk, as he realized that Fuji still believed he was a _human._ "Mada mada dane."

Fuji raised both brows. "Hm? Do you need me to take you to someone who can help?"

Ryoma's smirk widened. "Sure, onii-chan."

Fuji smiled kindly, and easily stepped to the door, pulling it open with a flourish. He made a gesture for Ryoma to walk through it first with a grand bow, and Ryoma, _hilariously amused_, pranced through. For now, he'd put the mystery of Fuji being able to see him behind him, and he'd focus on having some _fun._

Fuji walked out after Ryoma, closing the door behind him.

The moment they were out of the hallway, Fuji spotted Misao, blabbing a hundred commands into her Bluetooth at once. She seemed agitated, but then again, she was _always_ agitated at one form of 'incompetence' or another. With a brightened smile, Fuji took Ryoma by the arm and guided him – quite forcibly, Ryoma noted with mild irritation – to Misao.

"Misa-chan?" he murmured, as the woman clicked off the phone with a rapid 'click.' She whirled around to face him, and Ryoma almost took a step back; _everything_ about this woman screamed _success_ and _competence._ She was dressed to kill, in a fitted pantsuit ensemble, and curled hair and bloody bright red lips-

"Shusuke? I thought you were going to go take a break?"

"Well, I was, but this boy got lost – can you help him?" Fuji motioned towards Ryoma.

For a moment, Misao blinked blankly at the area gestured by Fuji, before frowning deeply at Fuji. "Shusuke, stop playing around and go take a serious rest; I have things to do."

Fuji's smile faltered. "…What are you talking about? This boy is lost, so he just needs some directions to get to the right studio-"

"What boy, Shusuke," Misao sighed in exasperation, pressing her lips into a thin line and planting her hands on her hips. Fuji stared at her for a moment, lost.

"…The one right next to me, Misa-chan – he's wearing a toga and wings; I mean, I heard senility was coming on early these days, but it's really quite hard to miss him, Misao-"

At that, Misao gave him a dry look, rolling her eyes. "Alright, Fuji, enough with the games, go back to your room and play with somebody else, alright?"

Fuji began to frown. "Misao, he just needs some directions-"

"Who are you talking about?!" the middle-aged woman finally spluttered, throwing her hands in the air. She made an exaggerated motion of waving her hand over the area where Fuji had gestured – and Fuji noted, with growing _horror_, that her hand was _passing through the boy_- "There's no one here, Fuji!"

Fuji's jaw promptly dropped, as Ryoma began to snicker loudly, smirk growing wider by the second, before-

-he quickly recovered, planting a wide smile on his lips. Fuji leaned in to peck Misao on the cheek. "Ah, ah, Misao-chan, I was just playing – I'll see you later, alright?"

And with that, Fuji clamped a discreet iron grip over Ryoma's upper arm, who was _still_ howling with laughter at the looks that adorned both Fuji and Misao's faces. Fuji dragged him back, through the hallway, and straight back into his dressing room. Ryoma stumbled into the room, shrieking with laughter, clutching his stomach for support.

Oh, oh, the look on _his face_-

Fuji moved rapidly to the sofa, falling back onto its cushioned surface with a sigh. "I really must be getting overworked, seeing things-"

"Ne, ne, _onii-chan_, I'm kinda hungry," Ryoma drawled, floating in the air before Fuji.

Fuji eyed him curiously, before-

"_Shusuke, angels are real, you know?" Yumiko murmured dreamily, holding a cup of tea before her lips. Shusuke looked up from his own cup of tea, an amused smile on his lips._

"_Saa, is that so?"_

_His sister pouted. "I know we only deal with ghosts, but they are! I've seen one!"_

_Fuji laughed._

…Ohhhh. Fuji's eyes snapped back open, and Ryoma hovered backwards unconsciously; those brilliantly bright blue eyes of his unnerved his core. And then, a devilish smile spread over Fuji's lips, and Ryoma felt that something wasn't quite right, here-

"So, angel-kun – that was quite something, wasn't it?"

Ryoma choked.

"You could have told me from the start, you know," Fuji pouted. "Maa – I guess the line 'did you fall from heaven' really _would_ work here, wouldn't it?"

Ryoma stared at him, bewildered, spluttering. Was this guy for real?

Fuji got a speculative, almost _delighted_ expression on his features, before: "Hey, I've always wanted to try out this line – did you fall from heaven, angel-kun?"

And then, Ryoma regained his sense of self, scowling at the way the power balance was going. Fuji wasn't supposed to be all _calm_ and understanding about this, damn it – he wasn't even supposed to realize he was an angel at all, wings and floating or not! Didn't most humans simply brush things off as hallucinations?

What was the deal with this kid?

"Obviously," Ryoma muttered, frowning.

"Because your face is _fucked up_," Fuji completed the joke, looking very much proud and as though he were a cat whom had swallowed the canary.

Ryoma choked again.

**CHAPTER FIN**

**REVIEW PLEASE! :)  
**


	3. 03 the ace of cups

**A/N: **Alrighty – a pretty quick update, if I do say so myself, though rather short. Read and review for faster updates? Ehehehe.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own PoT.

* * *

_**THE ACE OF CUPS: **__Everything starts with love, so they say, and this is certainly true of the Cups suit. The Ace of Cups is the initial flow of emotion that could become a mighty river is given time and attention. It is the planted - but still dormant - seed of great love and affection in the future, the first stirrings of passion, joy and insight. Often, the Ace of Cups will predict the start of a relationship, one that is full of potential and may eventually lead to true love and happiness. But you must always remember that the Ace can show only potential, not the final result of a situation. If a relationship starts out well, it is up to the two people involved to keep it that way, and improve upon it in any possible manner. The Ace of Cups is not a guarantee of happiness, but a guarantee that you will have the chance to make happiness for yourself if you want to. _

Sometimes, Fuji wished he could tell his _own_ fortune – because what, he asked, is the use of being psychic when one couldn't do a damn about his own life? Ah, alas; the spirit world lent its powers to those who aimed to help others, and it's fickle nature had never quite lent anyone any powers to help _himself._ And in wishful moments like these, Fuji simply rethinks the situation, and decides that perhaps he'd prefer it if he didn't know what the future held in store for him.

After all, he was a genius – he was already easily bored as it was. Perhaps, he mused, this was the universe's way of keeping him just interested enough so that he didn't go and _off himself._ And _then_, Fuji felt amused by the morbid nature of his own thoughts, and laughed.

From beside him, Ryoma jumped with slight surprise, golden eyes widening in bewilderment – before narrowing in half-exasperation, half-irritation at this male. Still, Ryoma reasons in his mind; this was _always_ better than those stupid duties the council had him stumbling around on all day, every day, back up in Heaven.

"So – angel-kun, are you here to grant me three wishes?" Fuji asked, an innocent smile spreading happily on his lips, and he clasped his hands beneath his chin prettily. Ryoma turned to give him an affronted glance, brows furrowing.

"That's a _genie_, dumbass."

Fuji puts on an expression of one who is truly disappointed and shocked, and for a moment, Ryoma was taken aback by the way his expression made one feel as though the angels were mourning for his loss. Fuji Shusuke – what a face, especially for a mortal. Ryoma paused, recovered, then: "I'm your guardian angel – chiiiisu."

Ryoma gave a slight flick of his right wing as though in emphasis, and felt a small smug pleasure at Fuji's appropriately delighted glance. Of course, there was still that tug of indignation that he – _Archangel Echizen Ryoma_ – was frolicking around as a guardian angel, but he figured it wasn't all too bad. Maybe he'd even gain access to some super-secret skills while in the human world, and _then_ he could finally best buchou in a dual-

"Saa, alright then – angel-kun, I'd love it if you could do something about the weather today; it is dreadfully warm, isn't it? Perhaps somewhere around 74 degrees would be perfect," Fuji mused, lightly gracing his cheek in wonderment.

Ryoma turned to give Fuji a deadpan look once more. "Then call the fucking weather service, because that's not my job."

Fuji pouted playfully, before smiling brightly once more. Ryoma paused, catching up with Fuji's myriad of changing expressions and seeming emotions – were humans always this fickle? "Ah, ah, if you're _my_ angel, angel-kun, does that mean I get to keep you?"

And Fuji's ensuing smile was so blithe and full of innocence, that Ryoma spluttered.

"I'm not a _toy_, you dumbass," he snapped irritably, already beginning to irritate his decision to volunteer. He could already hear that stupid Akaya's cackling, and his stupider boyfriend Yukimura's quiet laughter in tune. "It's my job to keep _you_ out of hell's doors."

Fuji's eyes took on an interested glint, glittering with curiosity and an attention that chilled Ryoma to his core when he caught the slits of blue. "So – hell really _does_ exist, yes?" Fuji asked, and Ryoma couldn't help but to notice the excited _anticipation_ in his voice. What in the name of all things holy was _wrong_ with this human?

Ryoma frowned. "Obviously – but that damned Satan won't be coming back up anytime soon. Akaya showed him what a _real_ demon looks like the last time they tried to clamber up here-"

Ryoma paused, fluttering idly in mid-air; ah, were they allowed to discuss things like this with mortals? Maybe he should have read those basic guidelines on being a guardian angel, after all. But he was pretty sure that this was the only mortal to have been able to _see_ their angel to begin with, much less communicate, so maybe rules on this kinda stuff wasn't even in there to begin with.

He shrugged coolly. Akaya wouldn't mind, probably; he was always eager to have more hear of his 'brilliant' battles. Ryoma snorted – more like battles where people eventually started running away from the mere _sight_ of him, drenched from head to toe in the blood of any living creature to come before him. It was a running bet between the Archangels that Akaya was really a devil confused about his real identity, because if _that_ was an angel, then Ryoma was the holy Pope.

"So, angel-kun – what's your name?"

"Echizen Ryoma."

For a moment, Fuji felt a pause in his heartbeat – Echizen Ryoma, hm? What a nice name.

* * *

In just two weeks' time, Ryoma discovered something _very_ eerily strange about the mortal known as Fuji Shusuke – that despite the screaming, bleeding death wish the boy seemed to have, the entire universe was hellbent on keeping him _alive._ And Fuji, as though he _knew_ that the world would do anything in its power to keep him breathing and well intact, only doubled his crazy antics tenfold.

It drove Ryoma insane.

From jaywalking at the busiest crosswalk Tokyo had to offer, to prancing along the railings atop Tokyo Tower, to driving so fast and ignoring all possible streetlights, Fuji's smiling features never missed a beat as he challenged death time and time again. Ryoma, in the meantime, was absolutely determined not to go down in history as the 'archangel that failed a guardian angel's duties' – and Fuji made that determination absolute living _hell._

Ryoma had taken on this volunteer experience thinking that ah, ah, it's just a guardian angel's duties; how hard could it be? He'd fully expected to be able to spend the majority of his time to his own discretion, wandering and discovering and experimenting around in this mortal world he so rarely got to visit. But, as fate would claim it, he was assigned to the _one mortal_ who, as Inui oh-so-kindly informed him _just two days ago_, had gone through _over ten different guardian angels_. Each and every last one had quit to be admitted under mental therapy for angels with post-traumatic stress disorder.

Fuji Shusuke, Ryoma concluded in his weekly report to Tezuka, was a _bleeding prick freak._ The man lived in quite the nice flat in upper metropolitan Tokyo, decorated by a professional who deemed it the latest fad to furnish it in modern steel and woodwork. And then Fuji had entered, sweeping through the room to surround the area in _cactuses_, and apparently items that belonged to a psychic had the ability to hurt angels as well, because every damned time Ryoma turned a corner, he felt the prickly surface of a cactus piercing the tender flesh on his feet.

His favorite pastime was watching American horror movies – and his particular favorite seemed to be a series labeled 'SAW.' Ryoma found he had trouble keeping the contents of his lunch in his stomach; Fuji, on the other hand, watched it all smiles and laughter, as though he were viewing a _comedy_ film, not a gore horror.

Fuji also had a strange penchant for taking pictures – of the _strangest_ things. He liked to sneak his camera in and get photographs of people caught off guard, such as when they used the bathroom. Ryoma, personally, hadn't cared much – until he found out along with Fuji that apparently, angels could be captured in flash and photos.

And after _that_ came out in the open, Ryoma found himself subject to blinding flashes of light in every pose imaginable, from snarling to sleeping to screaming when Fuji woke him up by dressing as a deviled demon. And _that _look, Ryoma told Fuji viciously, was the truest light Fuji had ever been seen in.

But, Ryoma paused, and wrote as an afterthought: Fuji was undoubtedly something _special_.

While Ryoma had learned that Fuji was a creep and a freak and a sadist all at once, he'd also watched the older boy's divinations across the media. There was something _happening_ whenever Fuji told a fortune, whether it be on set or in a private session, and even Ryoma felt the conviction of truth in his words whenever his lips parted to whisper destiny's secrets to his chosen clientele. Something about Fuji, Ryoma found, defied all laws of the universe that should have been in play, and Fuji ignored each and every rule about the world with but a simple, amused, _mischievous_ smile.

It was unnerving.

* * *

"Ahnnn, Kunimitsu – your baby boy seems to be having quite the fun down there," Atobe commented coolly, swirling an elegant glass of wine in one loose hand, the other leaning around the silver bird-fountain-like object in front of him. From its depths, a vision of Ryoma, undoubtedly humored by the tell-tale smirk on his lips, replying with a sharp sarcasm to a fair-haired, pleasantly smiling male, shimmered back into Atobe's watching gaze.

Tezuka grunted in return, eyes scanning through the report that Ryoma had just sent in; Atobe's eyes curved into a knowing smile. As much as Tezuka tried to keep up such an expressionless façade, they all knew that Ryoma was Tezuka's _baby boy protégé, _to be the Archangels' 'pillar' if Tezuka ever left. Sometimes, Atobe felt his eyes narrowing in ire when he felt as though Tezuka were paying that bratling more attention than to himself, but then-

-Tezuka looks up from his report to smile faintly at Atobe, and Atobe very nearly drops his glass of wine, eyes slightly widened. In moments like these, all Tezuka has to do is quirk his lips ever so faintly, and Atobe is left feeling like _this_.

How sad, he muses with a hint of amusement and not a thread of shame – the great Emperor, fallen to the captain so easily.

Still, Atobe peers over the edge of the silver rim to observe the curves of humor in Ryoma's features, and feels a wondrous amusement at the sheer, childish happiness he sees reflected in the younger's eyes. My, my.

* * *

"_Ne, ne – Shusuke. Wouldn't it be grand to have a guardian angel?" Yumiko asked, voice breathy and filled with the lingering traces of thousands of daydreams._

_Fuji looked up from his tea, and laughed._

_Yumiko pouted. "Why won't you believe me, Shusuke? Angels are very real – and very beautiful. I'm telling you, they exist."_

* * *

Sometimes, Fuji found himself waking up in the middle of the night, trapped somewhere between reality and dreams, wondering when one stopped and the other began. And sometimes, he wondered if this boy named Ryoma was a figment of his delirious dreaming; but then, Fuji thought, peering into cat-like golden eyes: if this was a dream, he certainly wouldn't mind remaining in eternal slumber.

The world had long since provided a source of entertainment for him – and it was perhaps this maddening boredom that had led Fuji to simply _accept_ that this boy was his _guardian angel_, because playing pretend with angels and wings would be more fun than any alternative. Fuji tilted his head to stare curiously at Ryoma, then, smile widening when Ryoma caught his glance. "Hello, angel-kun," he greeted in that soft voice of his, and Ryoma rolled his eyes.

"Don't get into any life-damaging trouble," Ryoma repeated in a monotone voice, as he always did, before turning back to a manga about some boy nicknamed the 'Prince of Tennis.'

Fuji laughed. If only he could.

* * *

"Now, Fuji-kun – what do you see in Rina-chan's future?"

Fuji smiled demurely, allowing his pale hands to slide forward and clasp the blonde girl's awaiting, trembling one. He feels his smile widen in vindictive humor when he feels the girl's shaking increase threefold, and he knows that she's nervous from more than just her impending future; no, she's also incredibly infatuated with Fuji's celebrity status and pretty face, he knows, and thinks it funny. Ryoma hovered behind Fuji, eyes curiously watching the process.

Behind them, few feet away from the mass of purple velvet robes and enchanting, shimmering crystals hung from the ceiling, is a camera crew and the director, watching anxiously. Misao watched from one of the hidden corners, a proud smile on her lips.

Fuji closed his eyes. He opened himself to the universe, to the world – to the cruel, loving hands of destiny, and allowed her to tell her every secret she had to share with his waiting ears. He saw the girl's past – smiling shyly at her first crush, sobbing when her dog died, screaming angrily at a best friend – like a movie reel of her biography.

Slowly, slowly, the reel fast-forwarded to her future.

And he saw-

_Death. I see your death._

A speeding yellow bus, carrying rows of children not wearing seatbelts in childish belief that life was something that lasted forever, indefinitely.

_Your future is black, because you're going to die._

The blonde girl walks forward, out into the street before the light tells her it's safe to cross, because, oh, her ring has fallen and rolled off the sidewalk-

_Black. Black, black, black, death, oh, dear, you haven't been a good soul in your living, either_-

The bus doesn't stop, because now the girl is bent over to retrieve the ring, and poor, poor bus driver can't _see_-

_The fallen angels are already reaching outwards and upwards, black wings unfurling in a mass of dark feathers, and they are waiting for your damned soul_-

Beep, beep, the sound of the bus's frantic horns as the driver just then realizes that someone is there-

_Crash! Pain. Sharp pain. Slowly, numbing. Then. Black._

The reel cuts into nothing.

Fuji's smile, though serene and beautiful as always, takes a chilly turn, but only Ryoma can notice the edge it's taken, because the blonde girl in front of Fuji is still smiling expectantly.

Fuji looks up at her pretty face, and in the back of his mind, all he can think is 'Such a pretty face. Such a pity.'

He opens his mouth-

"There is someone in this world whom loves you very much – and he has big plans for you two in the near future. Perhaps now would be a prudent time to inform him of your finger size," Fuji murmurs with a smile, and the girl shrieks in ecstatic glee.

The lights sweep off, and darkness floods the room for a moment, before: "THAT'S A WRAP!"

Lights flush back on, and the set is filled to the brim with noisy murmurings in the background.

Fuji stands up and walks to his dressing room before anyone has a chance to catch him.

* * *

"Why did you lie?" Ryoma asks, voice toneless as always, words as blunt as a sharp knife. Fuji feels the words cutting straight through his flesh, and knew Ryoma intended them to be that way, and-

"Hm?" He asks, feigning dear, precious innocence, smiling prettily.

"What did you really see, Shusuke?"

Fuji's smile falters, before returning. "Death."

Ryoma's eyes widen.

"…Why didn't you-"

Fuji sighs, before smiling once more in a sign of determination. "I can't cheat death, Ryoma – I can't cheat death of what it wants, see? It wants her, and it will have her – and I would only prolong the inevitable by warning her of yellow buses today. Death will claim her, in the end, anyway."

Fuji's eyes opened, and Ryoma felt a chill at the smile that remained on his lips.

"The only thing would change would be death's anger towards me, at that moment, for cheating it momentarily of what it wants."

* * *

"_Our family has long since held great power, Shusuke – but never interfere with the universe. It may tell you of its secret plans, may spill to you its deepest, darkest intricacies, but never can you do anything to interrupt the universe."_

"_Our job is to understand and coexist with the universe – not to attempt to alter it."_

"_To try would be futile – and fatal."_

* * *

"You see, Ryoma – one mustn't tempt death and fate in that way, by reprieving them of something that they desire."

**READ AND REVIEW PLEASE. :)**


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